


Hit and Run - Part Six

by withoutaplease



Series: Hit and Run [6]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Language, Smoking, Smut, mention of abuse (Billy), mentions of drug use, mentions of suicide attempt (Reader), waking up in hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Summary: Reader is okay, but nothing else is, until she takes a walk down a backroad on a stormy night.Note: This is a timestamp series based on my drabble, Cherry Lane.Additional note:  This is the last planned part! Thank you so much for reading/liking/kudo-ing/reblogging and especially to those of you who took the time to comment.  I appreciate you.





	Hit and Run - Part Six

_April 21, 1985_

_Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . ._

You ignored it, at first. You were deep, deep asleep, like being under warm water, far beneath things like pain and memory and noise, and you wanted to stay. It was safe here. But the sound pierced through.

_Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . _

It wouldn't stop, and you were floating up, slowly at first, like swimming through syrup. You tried to stay under, but then there were other noises, somewhere far away: squealing tires, sirens, hushed voices. Then the sound of a low, heavy drumbeat, reverberating through your head. No, not a drumbeat. A heartbeat, pounding painfully in time to the 

_Beep . . . beep . . ._

You knew that sound. That pounding. Those hushed voices. You'd been here before, drowning on purpose, wanting desperately to stay under and being pulled up, inexorably, by the sound of the

_Beep . . ._

And then, all at once, you broke the surface, gasping. You opened your eyes and were blinded by a wall of white light. You blinked a few times, and the white wall faded down to strips of fluorescents, half a dozen of them, twisting and spinning before you. A few more blinks, and they melded together into two, blazing unmoving on the ceiling.

You turned your head, and for a second, the pounding was so loud it drowned out everything else. You squeezed your eyes shut again, until it died back down to a throb. This time, when you opened them, you saw a woman, dressed in blue scrubs, sitting head in hands on a chair of ugly orange plastic. It was too familiar. You'd been here before.

"Mom?" you asked, or tried. It came out more like a squeak, but it was enough to make her look up. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying. You'd been here before.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," she said, standing, rushing over to you. "I thought it was happening again."

"What did I -?" you started, but the words wouldn't form. The pounding was too loud. You couldn’t keep your eyes still, and they drifted around the room as your mother stood over you, clasping your fingers with clammy hands. You recognized the sterile white lamp on the sterile white nightstand, and the sterile white blinds on the window. 

". . . in God's name were you thinking, Y/N? I know you've been messing around with that little punk asshole but I thought at least you had more sense than to . . ."

You heard her, but you couldn't listen. Your eyes kept drifting, and you recognized the tiny television bolted in the corner of the ceiling, and the bland watercolour of a vase of yellow flowers beneath it. The doorway, half open, with other women in blue scrubs walking by. Men in white coats. A tall man in a brown uniform.

". . . but cocaine? You could have had a heart attack right then and there! You think I haven't seen it happen? You think I haven't seen dozens of kids who thought they were invincible kill themselves with shit like that? Christ, is that what you were trying to do?"

"I don't -" you tried, but it still wouldn't come. It was all too loud. Outside in the hallway, someone else was yelling, too.

". . . and you whip around in your hot car like you're hot shit and you don't care who gets in the way, only now you could've killed that sweet girl in there, and -"

"I'm the one who took care of her while your ambulance took a fuckin' year to get there!" another voice interrupted. You knew that voice.

"You're gonna want to watch that mouth of yours, son, because you're coming with me to the station for a breath test, and God help you if you had one drop to drink tonight because, guess what? Happy birthday! Now you’re eighteen, and that means you get charged as an adult!"

"I wasn't drinking."

"I really hope that's true, because it's way past my bedtime, and that's a hell of a lot of paperwork if I've gotta book you. Now let's go."

"Can I see her first?"

The man in brown - a cop - poked his head around the side of the door. He looked at you, and then at your mother, still lecturing unheard at the side of your bed. He frowned, and disappeared again.

"Bad idea," he said. Then, a little more softly, "Let's go."

The cop walked past the doorway, and a moment later, Billy appeared. He was pale, and sullen, and sporting a gauze bandage above one eye. He paused in the doorway and stared for a second, looking like pure misery. You stared back, uncomprehending.

"Let's go!" the cop shouted, and Billy walked away.

Seeing him shook something loose in your mind, and the pounding died down enough so that you could remember. The party. The buck. The, _maybe you should have just finished the job in the first place._

". . . I don't know what to do for you anymore," your mom was saying, tearfully. "I don't know how to talk to you, I don't know how to keep you safe."

You leaned over the edge of the bed and splashed the floor with vomit. It felt like battery acid in your throat, but it shut her up, at least. 

"It's okay, Mom," you said, and it hurt to speak. "It's not going to happen again. It was all just an accident."

*****

_April 25, 1985_

Thirty-six exceedingly unpleasant hours later, you came home from the hospital with a fairly serious concussion and a fine for underage drinking. For the first couple days, you mostly just slept and waited for Billy to show up so you could tell him where to go. Only, he never did.

On the third day, you felt a little better, and you wanted a smoke badly enough that you would have gone outside even if you didn’t. It was mild, and not too bright, and you decided to take a walk up the street to stretch your legs. That, and the Camaro was back outside of Billy’s house, and you were never one to resist your curiosity. You turned on your Walkman, and headed across the street.

Considering how lousy you felt, it seemed like it should have been a lot worse. The driver’s side had some body damage from where it went into the barrier, and there was a crack spiderwebbing across the passenger side of the windshield, from where you’d nearly put your head through it. Among your many errors in judgement that night, it seemed you’d forgotten to put on your seatbelt. 

You were leaning over the windshield to get a closer look at the crack when you felt eyes on you, and when you looked up, Billy was watching you from the porch window. You stood up straight and looked him in the eye, waiting for . . . anything. He stared for a few more seconds, expressionless, and then turned and disappeared back into the house. 

So that was that, then.

You stood beside the car for the span of one more cigarette puff, then you carried on walking up the street. You turned up the music as loud as you could stand, and let Pat commiserate with you over love and battlefields.

*****

_June 5, 1985_

It had been a rainy spring, and that suited you just fine. There was something about the cloudy skies and darkness that made you feel a little less alone in your unhappiness. Long after the constant headache and sleepiness went away, there was still the anger, and the hurt, and the loneliness. 

There still hadn't been any words between you and Billy, and at this point you didn't expect any, but it's not like he vanished off the face of the earth. As if seeing him at school wasn’t bad enough, he’d taken to setting up a lounge chair in the front yard on sunny days to tan. That was another thing the rain was good for - keeping that shit to a minimum. Not that you were likely to forget him any time soon, but you sure didn’t need that kind of reminder. Especially not when you noticed a little blond cream puff joining him out there a couple of weekends ago. It could rain all it wanted for all you cared.

The rain tonight was different, though. You were at the library, failing miserably at cramming for exams, when a wall of blue-black clouds rolled in. They brought with them a gusty, howling wind and a sprinkling of hail that eventually mellowed out into a cold, driving downpour that showed no sign of stopping. You waited inside the library until it closed, and when the rain showed no sign of letting up, you resigned yourself to getting wet and made a break towards home. Five minutes into that decision, you heard the first rumbles of thunder. 

You’d been avoiding the backroad lately, what with all the memories, but when you saw a fork of lightning shoot across the black sky, you decided to go for the shortcut. It was dark, and a little on the creepy side, but it was still the quicker way home. Billy, apparently, had the same idea, on his way back from wherever it was he went these days. When you saw headlights coming up behind you, you weren't even surprised to look back and see the Camaro, and when he pulled up alongside you and said, “You wanna get in?” there was nowhere for you to go. You flipped him the bird, and kept walking. He he rolled the car along after you.

“Hypothermia,” he said, as you marched resolutely forward and pretended the raindrops didn’t sting against your face. “Flash flooding, falling branches.” Thunder boomed. “Lightning strikes. Are you sure you don’t want to get in?”

“I’ll take my chances with the lightning,” you shouted, pointlessly tugging your already-drenched hood tighter over your head.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, before suddenly screeching up ahead of you and pulling over in your path. He stopped the car, and stepped outside, ignoring the raindrops that pelted him.

“Are you out of your mind?” you shouted. A fork of lightning danced across the sky, followed by an almost instant crack of thunder.

He frowned up at the sky. “Are you out of yours?” he said, looking back at you.

"I would have to be to ride with you again!"

Another gust of wind kicked up, blasting both of you with a fresh wall of water. "I think I'm your best option here," he reasoned. "Or we could stand out here and suffer."

You were drenched, and freezing, and if anything the storm was getting worse. And, god damn it, it was Billy. You huffed. “I’ll sit in the car,” you said, "to wait out the rain. You're not driving me anywhere."

He rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a blast," he said, and climbed back in. You hurried around to the passenger side, spurred along by a fresh crack of thunder right overhead, and got in, slamming the door against the rain. He turned off the ignition and sat back. You crossed your arms, shivering, and didn't look at him.

"How've you been?" he asked, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one up. He held the pack out to you, and you ignored it to fish your own soggy smokes out of your pocket.

"Don't," you said, lighting up a bent cigarette. "I'm just riding out the storm."

"Suit yourself," he muttered. "Might be here a while."

You shrugged a shoulder and stayed silent. You watched the water falling in sheets over the new windshield, lit up with occasional flashes of lightning, as the air in the car grew thick with smoke and tension. Billy cracked the window to toss out his butt, letting in a fresh spray, and a minute later, you did the same. Then you just sat, and pouted, and willed the rain to stop.

Eventually, Billy huffed a heavy sigh and said, "Would you just let me have it, already? This is torture."

You shook your head. "What makes you think I've got anything to say to you?"

"Because I know you. I know that look on your face. Just give it to me, you'll feel better."

"Since when do you care how I feel?" you asked, finally looking over at him. 

"Since always," he replied.

You rolled your eyes. "Right," you said. "More bullshit."

“You’re gonna have to give me a little more than that,” he said.

“Are you seriously that stupid?” you asked, and didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “I trusted you!”

He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he started, placatingly, “I know, I’m sorry about the accident -”

You cut him off. “I’m not talking about the accident! Although, actually, yes, thank you for that too, it was super fun waking up in the hospital again! I told you you drive like an asshole!”

“See?” he said, almost smirking, “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Could you stop enjoying this, please? You put me in the hospital! And, you ratted me out to my fucking mother that I took cocaine!”

“Hold on,” he said, “I told your nurse what was in your system because you wouldn’t wake up -”

“You know she thinks I’m suicidal again? I can’t even take a fucking Tylenol for the all the frequent headaches I now enjoy without her counting the pills when she thinks I’m not looking.”

“All right, that’s shitty -”

“And you didn’t even come to see me,” you said. “Didn’t even call.”

“Would you have talked to me if I had?” he asked.

“No.”

He shrugged. “That’s why I didn’t call.”

“That’s not even - I’m not even mad about the accident.”

He chuckled. “You seem pretty mad about the accident.”

You shook your head, and shot him a look. “Billy, I trusted you,” you said. “I fucking knew better, and I trusted you anyway. I told you the worst thing about me, the thing I don’t tell anyone, and you turned right around and used it against me.”

He sighed, and set his jaw. “Okay,” he said, and all traces of the smirk were gone. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually, you fucking lied to me, too.”

“When did I lie to you?” he asked defensively. 

“When you told me you were okay.” 

“Who says I’m not?”

You took a deep breath. “I know what your dad has been doing to you.”

He grimaced, and stared down at the steering wheel for a long half-minute. “You know how many girls have tried to save me?” he said quietly. “Without even asking if I want to be saved?”

“Well, I’m not your girl,” you replied. “I thought I was your friend. Besides, I can’t even take care of myself, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you, and I shouldn’t have said that about killing yourself. Okay? I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” you said, with a tiny shrug, and turned your gaze back to the light show in the windshield. Some minutes passed by before he spoke again.

“So what, we’re just not gonna talk now?” he asked. “We’re just nothing?”

You shrugged.

“Is that what you want?”

“I never wanted any of this,” you said.

“Now who’s the liar?” he muttered.

“I don’t want you, Billy.”

“You’re lying.”

You shook your head. “I’m not. I don’t want you.”

“Yeah, you do,” he argued.

“Are you delusional? I’m telling you, I don’t.”

“You’re just mad at me,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You can’t.”

“Sure I can,” he said, and considered for a second. He turned toward you and raised his palms. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“I’ll give you a free one,” he said. “Hard as you want.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a fucking psychopath!” you snapped.

“Mmm, debatable,” he said, with the ghost of a grin. “Come on.”

“I’m not gonna hit you.”

“Okay, then insult me. Call me a piece of shit again.”

You glared. “You are a piece of shit.”

“Good,” he said. “Call me a bastard.”

“You’re that, too.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me I’m a lousy lay.”

When you didn’t immediately answer, he actually fucking grinned. You smiled, too, and quickly stomped it out. “You’re an idiot,” you said. 

“But not a lousy lay,” he said, wagging his finger.

You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back onto the seat. “Billy -” you said, sighing.

“I fucked up,” he said quickly. “I know I fucked up. It’s kinda what I do. But don’t -” He sighed, and leaned over in his seat, and reached to weave his fingers into the side of your hair. You flinched, but didn’t pull away. “How much longer are we gonna keep doing this?” You shook your head. “Can we just skip to the part where we’re happy?”

You sighed, and he pulled you closer, until his forehead was pressed right against yours, and you could feel the tickle of his breath on your lips. “Baby,” he whispered.

“I’m not your -” you started, and he lifted his chin, not enough to kiss you, but enough to brush your lip with his. 

He glanced up at you with blown baby blues, close enough that you felt the tickle of his lashes on your skin. “Let me make it up to you.”

“I don't -” you started, but then, all of a sudden, you were tired. Of resisting. Of lying. Of being unhappy. “Oh, fuck it,” you said, and you closed the last half-inch between your mouths. He grinned against your lips, and brought his other hand up to hold your face. Then he teased your mouth open with the tip of his tongue, and gave you slow, sloppy kisses. _I missed you_ kisses. You closed your eyes, and gave them back.

He didn’t stop kissing you to push your soggy jacket off your shoulders, or to pull your damp t-shirt over your head, or to unhook the back of your bra. He trailed hot, plush kisses down your throat and over the goosebumped curve of your breast, then sucked your nipple into his mouth, and you moaned softly. He grazed you with his teeth, and you moaned louder. 

He kept his lips on you as he unbuttoned your jeans, and helped you wiggle out of them. He switched nipples, and kept his lips on you as he wadded up the bottom of his own shirt, letting go only to pull it off. He kept his lips on you as he unzipped his own jeans, and pushed them down, finally letting go to say, “You like that?” with a half a grin as his cock sprung free.

“Shut up,” you said, but you were laughing. You opened up the glovebox, pulled out the condoms, and handed them over. 

He put one on, and moved his seat back, and beckoned, “Come here.” You climbed over to straddle him, hitting the horn with your elbow and laughing again. 

He grinned. “Closer than that,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down onto him. You gasped as he filled you, and for a few seconds, he just held you still against his chest. You could feel his heart. It was hammering. 

“Billy,” you murmured, snapping him out of wherever he’d been. 

“Mmm,” he replied, and loosened his grip, but kept his arms around you. You swiveled your hips. “Don’t rush it,” he said, and planted his lips on your mouth again. Pinned, as you were, between him and the steering wheel, there wasn’t much room for rushing, anyway. That suited you fine. You rolled lazily, and kissed, and fogged up the windows. The wind and rain kept howling outside, but you wouldn’t have heard a hurricane, the way the blood was pumping in your ears. The tension coiled up slowly, low in your belly, and when it finally sprung, you cried out right into Billy’s mouth, and he held you tight against him again as you shuddered. “Miss me?” he murmured, smiling crookedly. 

“Yeah, I did,” you whispered back, and rested your head in the crook of his shoulder, and dug deep for the energy to roll your hips again. He grabbed hold of them, and helped you along, and that helped him along, and he came, panting. His arms closed around you once more, and by the time you rolled back onto the passenger seat, the thunder was fading off into the distance.

"I don't want to go back to how it was," he said after he dressed, lighting up a smoke as you pulled your damp t-shirt back on. He handed the cigarette over, and lit up another. "I bang other chicks, and it feels like I'm cheating on you."

You snorted. "Was that supposed to be sweet?"

He laughed. "Why, are you jealous?"

"No," you said, maybe a touch too quickly.

"Good," he said, "you've got no reason to be."

You took a long drag. "Is that so?" you asked, gazing out at the rain, finally starting to fade to a patter.

"You think you know me so well," he said, looking out with you. "But you really have no idea how long I've been yours."

You glanced back over, and smiled softly. "I don't want to go back, either," you said. "But I don't want to lose my only real friend."

"You won't," he said, all cocky confidence.

"How can you be so sure?" you asked.

He cracked a grin. "Fucked if I know, sweetheart," he replied, chuckling. He held out his hand, and you took it, lacing your fingers together into a tight clasp. You sat that way, and smoked, and watched as the rain dried up altogether.

"Can I take you home?" he asked. You nodded, and he gently let go of your hand. He started up the engine and pulled out onto the road, and the two of you buckled your seatbelts. Slowly, he wound his way through the dark and twisty woods, until you reached the streetlights of Cherry Lane again.


End file.
